


Right turn

by Elisexyz



Series: Whumptober 2019 (Black Sails) [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e10 XVIII, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: When the ship taking Eleanor to her trial is boarded by pirates, she isn't sure what outcome she should be hoping for. Is it better to die by English noose or by the hand of people that used to see her as a tyrant?





	Right turn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Shackled" prompt in the Whumptober 2019 event (one day too late but ssshh).  
  
This doesn't take into account the whole Rogers plot, so Eleanor is being shipped away for a trial. It's platonic, but I guess you can read it as romantic too, if you wish. 

On deck, there’s chaos.

Eleanor is sitting in a corner, chained so that she has as little mobility as possible and blindfolded so as to make her too disoriented to properly fight back – she earned that by kicking and punching a man that got too handsy on the way there; she is now more uncomfortable and sore for it, but she regrets nothing, particularly given that if they are to have her executed, might as well make the assholes sweat it –, so she can only rely on the sounds of battle to draw her conclusions, but they were probably boarded by pirates.

That is fucking ironic.

Her instinctive relief subdues as soon as she realizes that she literally has no way of knowing whether this is a good thing or not: how many crews would see her as a friend, or a colleague, and not as a fallen tyrant that they now are finally in the position to take revenge on?

What fate is worse for her: certain but fairly quick death at the hands of the empire, or being handed over to a bunch of volatile men who never much liked her? She imagines that they celebrated as soon as they received news of her capture, those bastards. Those fucking ungrateful bastards, toasting her death when she was the one who kept things _going_ in Nassau.

By the time the sounds of battle die out, she isn’t yet sure about what outcome she should be hoping for. Either way, eventually the door opens, and someone says: “Here she is! What a sight!”

Try as she might, she cannot connect the voice to a face. It sounds familiar enough, but she has met too many pirates throughout her life, there is no way of telling who this man is. Regardless of his identity, he sounds all too delighted at the sight of her in chains, and she can’t help clenching her jaw, her muscles tensing up in anticipation for having to fight back, somehow.

“I’ll tell the captain we’ve found her,” a second voice says, once again familiar but not enough for her to pin a face on it.

She thinks of saying something, of showing that she is still as defiant as ever, but that might turn out to be counterproductive depending on whom she’s dealing with, so she elects to keep her mouth shut and breathe through her rising panic.

There are voices, too far for her to hear, and she only wants for the torture to _end_ as finally footsteps approach. Her heartbeat starts fastening, as her arms and legs make a few weak attempts at fighting against the restrains before she can will herself to stop, pressed against the wood by her side as if that could offer any protection from—

“It’s alright, it’s just me.”

That voice, thank god, she does recognize.

“Flint?” she asks, hopeful and a little hesitant, because there is still a chance that it is only wishful thinking on her part.

“Yeah.”

Relief washes through her whole body in an instant, and she almost starts laughing at her unbelievable luck, because of _all_ the pirates, among so many captains holding petty grudges or hating her guts, _Flint_ is the one who found her.

Jesus Christ.

As soon as he’s crutched down in front of her, he gently takes off the blindfold, for which she couldn’t be more grateful. She can finally blink freely, waiting for her eyes to readjust to the – albeit poor – light, as Flint moves to the shackles, trying to find the right key.

There are a lot of thoughts roaming around her head, there’s the beginning of an hysterical laughter tickling at her throat and tears pushing behind her eyes, but somehow her mind ends up getting stuck on a very stupid detail, and that is what ends up coming out.

“There is less of you than I remembered,” she comments, frowning at his shaved head.

Flint raises his eyes on her, his eyebrows shooting up and the hint of an amused grin on his lips. “_That_ is the first thing that you thought to tell me?”

She shrugs, smiling a little too. There’s still some uneasiness left under her skin, the feeling of having to _run_ as soon as given the chance not yet completely gone, but knows that she is safe, that she isn’t going to get tried and hanged, or handed over to a crew of angry pirates. Fate seems to be with her now, thank god.

“It’s weird,” she only comments. He looks ridiculously different.

He snorts, shaking his head a little as he goes back to dealing with the chains.

As soon as she’s free to move and she has reassured herself that her joints still work properly, not without another rush of relief, she instinctively leaps forward, throwing her arms around him and pulling him against her.

He hesitates a few moments before reciprocating the embrace, but eventually she can feel his hands clumsily moving to her back, one finally settling on the back of her head.

“I’m very glad to see you,” she breathes out, the fear and joy and absolute _terror_ that she’s felt all roaming inside her, filling up her chest as more and more tears insistently push behind her eyes. She snorts a laugh that sounds a little too much like a sob. “I could already feel the noose around my neck,” she confesses, quietly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and clinging a little harder.

He gives her a squeeze, she isn’t sure if voluntarily or not, and she can feel him take a deep breath.

“You too,” he says, gently. The pause that precedes his next words doesn’t seem to last nearly long enough. “Let’s get up, yeah? We have a lot to discuss.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates comments, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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